Tether to Reality
by UnintendedTrustFall
Summary: Stiles has a derealization-induced panic attack. Lydia is there to ground him. Stydia pairing. Trigger Warning: Panic attacks and derealization.


_*Set a bit after the season 3 finale. __**TRIGGER WARNING:**__ I wrote this based off my own experience with derealization-induced panic attacks. Read and review._

* * *

With all that had happened, with Allison dying, and Aiden dying, and defeating the nogitsune, all of it was just beginning to settle. But like all life's tragedies it didn't settle slowly, gently like a layer of dust. It more came crashing down like boulders smashing into small rocks off of a high ledge. And the boulders had just rolled off the ledge.

Stiles had been sitting silently for a while now and Lydia glanced over to see he looked strange. A little paler than usual and more troubling were his eyes. They looked disturbingly unfocused.

"Stiles?" She said quietly, not trying to draw the attention of Kira or Isaac who were at the end of the lunch table.

Stiles looked vaguely in her direction and then down and muttered, "Oh, shit."

Lydia stood up and took Stiles' arm and led him out of the cafeteria. Once surrounded by the privacy of an empty hallway, she watched him sit down against the wall and she joined him.

"Stiles, what's going on?"

"I don't... I don't feel... Real? I guess?" He swallowed thickly, tilted his head back, "Fuck. It's like everything... Is like... A dream."

"Derealization." Lydia said, surveying him, from his quivering legs to his terrified eyes.

"Godammit. I just want to come back." He said helplessly.

Lydia inched closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders she pulled him into her side.

"It's okay. I know it sucks, but you're gonna be okay, I promise."

He breathed slow, shuddering breaths.

"Just focus on something, okay? Try and make it real."

Stiles half laughed, "It's hard to believe being pressed against your boobs is real." He swallowed and gripped her arm with his fingers, "But I'm not about to complain."

She smiled, and rubbed his arm, "I'm real. This is real. You're real. Focus on my touch."

He breathed out hard breaths, gripping her arm.

"Forget class today. C'mon, I'll take you home, alright? You'll have an easier time recognizing that."

Stiles nodded, and stood up with her. It was slow and shaky but he made it to his feet, and that was a start. He stood awkwardly next to her, desperate to latch himself to any sort of reality and then she gave it to him. She took his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers and led him out to the parking lot.

* * *

She drove his Jeep home and walked him upstairs to his bedroom where he sat down on the end of his bed, burying his face in his hands.

"Hey, Stiles?" She said softly, touching his shoulder, "Do you want me to stay? Will that help?"

Stiles swallowed, ran a shaky hand through his hair as his vision darted across the room, unable to focus.

"I don't know, I mean- yeah, but... You know, you don't have to- only if you want to..."

Lydia smiled sympathetically and climbed onto the other side of the bed.

"Here, c'mon, lay down." She said gently, guiding him.

She laid down next to him, keeping their hands held loosely together between them. Tethering him to reality as much as she could manage.

"Remember when we were in eighth grade, Stiles?" She began softly, "And I was in that phase where I only dated football players so you tried out for the team?"

Stiles opened his mouth in something like disbelief, but he didn't respond. He didn't have to. And he wasn't sure he could. So he focused on her words, her voice, the memory, the reality of it all. Grounding him.

"And you got knocked on your ass by Andrew Keller and got a concussion?"

Stiles smiled weakly at her, responding shakily, "Th-That was my first concussion."

"The first of too many." Lydia said, "Honestly, I'm surprised you're still so smart given how many times your brain has hit your thick skull."

Stiles closed his eyes, relieving the dizziness somewhat, "I'll take the compliment, leave the, uh, well, whatever other implication is."

He tightened his grip on her hand. She bit her lip, wishing there was anything more she could do to help him but this was all she knew she could do.

"You know, if it hadn't been for the whole getting attacked by a werewolf and triggering my inner banshee thing?" She began, "That homecoming night with you would've been my favorite dance."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Most other guys I've been to dances with just expected me to dance with them. And expected me to follow them and their stupid friends around all night, but you..."

Stiles was finally relaxing a little bit. The tremors shaking his body were letting up and it was getting easier to focus on Lydia.

"You actually asked. And maybe that was because you were unsure of yourself but it was important to me that you gave me the option to turn you down."

He opened his eyes, letting his gaze travel his room, recognizing posters and pictures, taking it in.

"Until, I _did_ turn you down, and then you did something the rest of the guys I've been to dances with didn't do. You didn't back down. You fought your point. And in the end, you won, Stiles."

Now, thinking more coherently, Stiles was beginning to realize Lydia wasn't just talking about dances.

"In that case," Stiles said, sitting up a little shakily and looking at Lydia, "Lydia Martin, would you take a platonic, or not, or whatever, nap with me, so I can wake up feeling normal again?"

Lydia smiled up at him and nodded. She kicked off her shoes and moved closer to Stiles as he relaxed, closing his eyes, and holding her hand.

* * *

Stiles blinked up at the ceiling and saw the orangey light from sunset filtering through the blinds. His blinds. In his room. Where Lydia had taken him to calm down, and he breathed a sigh of relief realizing it worked. He started to sit up and Lydia did too.

"Are you okay?" She asked him, pushing her hair back.

He smiled at her, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

And as he stared at her, he thought how glad he was that her's was the first familiar face he saw after that terrifying episode. And even more glad that it was her's that guided him through it.

He wanted to thank her repeatedly. He wanted to hug her. Kiss her. Not just for the usual reasons, but because she _was _his anchor. The emotional tether Deaton saw between them was real and she had just proved it.


End file.
